


An Easy Stunt

by adastra615



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Blood, Gen, head injuries, really pretty light-hearted with a dash of angst for flavoring, rick doubting himself, stunts gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastra615/pseuds/adastra615
Summary: An easy stunt. That’s what they’d told Cliff.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	An Easy Stunt

An easy stunt. That’s what they’d told Cliff.

 _No problem,_ he’d said with his usual confidence.

Rick’s character was supposed to get his head slammed into a wooden post of a saloon. Easy enough stunt - nothing to it really. Just don’t actually get your head slammed into the post and you’d be right as rain. So when Ian McClintock grabbed him by the hair - villain of the week character actor who may or may not have been something of a villain in real life, at least according to the IRS and his years of unpaid taxes – he hadn’t anticipated Ian's unsteady unrehearsed movement owing to the few too many Ian had downed before the shoot. Not to say Cliff wasn’t ready, he was always ready, but Ian had moved before the director had even given the go ahead, his hand twisting painfully in Cliff’s hair. He braced himself, his body doing most of the work for him, muscle memory kicking in. It’s a shoot- he isn’t really allowed to kick the guys teeth in so he has to go with it - and that was his last thought before his head was slammed into the post.  
  


*********  
  


“Your stuntman got his marbles rattled.”  
  


“Mine? Nah, he doesn’t do that. Too good.”

“Yeah well last time I saw him, looked like he came from the set next door - you know that over the top horror shoot? Buckets of red food dye and corn starch every-fucking-where. Night of the undead hookers from hell. Yeah that’s a title. Think I’ll take the wife and kids to see it.”  
  


Rick’s heart rate kicked and he jumped up knocking his half-drunk scotch off the trailer counter - half onto the floor, half onto the pants of his costume.

“Fucking goddamn shit! Where the h-hell is he?”

*************

He looked dead. Blood coating his face and Rick thought he might throw up.

“Well where’s the g-goddamn a-ambulance? H-how did this happen?” He was too upset to even notice he was stuttering and he always noticed.

He knelt down next to him, trying to figure out where all the blood was coming from, but he couldn’t get his vision to focus on just any one thing. _His forehead. Look at his fucking forehead,_ he thought. There was a deep open wound and it seemed to be where the majority of the blood had and was coming from. Must of clipped his forehead on the side of the post. Rick placed his hands on Cliff’s shoulders and gave him a little shake.

Cliff moaned at that action and his right hand raised off the ground a little. Rick took it between his fingers holding tight and giving it a squeeze. They were dusty from the sand they’d laid down on set.

“Hey, C-Cliff buddy, y-you okay? You hit your head. Fucking stunt went wrong or something. What the hell happened?” He said turning to the people working on the set who had come to surround them. Carnage always brought a crowd.  
  


“Couldn’t kick his teeth in,” was all Cliff muttered and then he tried to sit up and was half successful leaning precariously to the side, he lifted the hand that Rick was holding and said, “Hey this isn’t my hand?” His eyes tracked slowly to Rick’s face. “Fuck, Rick you okay?”

“You goddamn idiot, you’re bleeding everywhere and you’re asking me that?”

Cliff raised his left hand to his forehead and then brought it back to eye-level. “Will you look at that? I really am. That’s a lot. Probably needs stitches. Concussion.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Rick though had the anxiety of two men and he’d make up for Cliff’s lack of it.

"Come on, can you get up?" Rick asked and held out a hand.

"Course, I can." Cliff said using the post that had done the damage to pull himself upwards. He wavered for a moment, his hand remaining against his forehead.

The intern from first-aid had rushed over with a water bottle and some towels and was nervously moving from foot to foot as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. Rick reached for the supplies absently, his gaze still locked on the blood running from Cliff's head and down onto his shirt. If he just had more know-how he could do his own stunts and then it would be him with his head bashed in and Cliff could have a break for once.

His body was riddled with scars and about quarter of them came from stunt work. The others? He hadn't had the nerve to ask about, figured Cliff would tell him or he wouldn't. He wasn't going to push it.

"You should sit down," Rick said.

"Nah, no need for that. Just let me get the bleeding stopped and we can finish the scene." He pushed the towel against his forehead. He didn't even flinch, Rick noticed. As if he was so used to this sort of thing that it didn't mean a thing.

Rick looked to director with the hope that he would put an end to Cliff's pigheadedness, but he only shrugged. You know your limits it seemed to say.

Rick trusted Cliff, but he also knew that he wasn't one to give up on a scene or a job or anything, even if it was probably better that he did.

"Come on Cliff, it's not a tight shooting schedule." He turned again to the director hoping for a nod in the affirmative, but once again was met with a shrug. The lackadaisical bastard. If he wanted a good stuntman he should know when to call it quits. When you'd just had your best stuntman’s bell rung that was a good idea to wrap for the day or at least move to the next scene - save it for later.

"I'm good. I'm good," Cliff said all languid like and Rick found that under his anxiety he was starting to get angry. Mostly he went through the day in a state of almost constant apprehension until he could get home- make himself a cocktail and try to forget about any faux-pas or moments in his acting that just weren't up to par in his own mind. Even if they lauded him and told him he was the greatest fucking actor that had graced their set, he knew in the back of his mind that they were lying to him in some way - not the greatest. He never felt like the greatest. Someone was fucking deluded that was for sure and it sure as shit wasn't him. Didn't mean he didn't want it to be true, but when a thing wasn't true you knew it - and Rick knew it in his bones. At one point he had thought higher of himself but it had been years - a decade he thought - a whole fucking decade since he'd felt really good about his own acting.

"I'll do the scene," he said suddenly - he didn't know where it had come - he was angry enough to not really care what the consequences would be.

"No no, come on Rick, it's not a big deal"

"Well, it seems like he wants to shoot it today," he gesticulated widely towards the director again, who once again gave something of a noncommittal shrug, but then nodded.

"Yeah, I would prefer it that way. I like to shoot in order."

"That's insane!" Rick said.

"Come on, simmer down," Cliff said and dropped a calloused hand on to Rick's shoulder. "You don't need to do this. Really, you shouldn't. What are you going to do if you knock out a tooth?"

"That won't happen. Just show me what I gotta do."

"Just make sure he's on cue," Cliff said pointing a somewhat aimless finger towards Ian McClintock who had plopped down onto the wooden stairs of the saloon's set.

"Y-you're saying he wasn't on cue?"

"Nope, definitely off." Cliff continued to push the cloth hard against the gash in his forehead.

"H-hey Ian," Rick said and stopped in front of him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You did this." He said and pointed towards Cliff who only shrugged and looked a little pale and Rick wanted to drag him off to the first aid tent and get the few stitches he needed put into his stubborn ass.

"Didn't mean to he," Ian said. "He moved wrong."

"Moved wrong, my ass. He never messes up."

"Come on let's do this scene."

Nah, come on Rick, I can't let you do that." Cliff said. I would feel guilty as hell if you ended up looking like me. You don't want your leading man with a dented in forehead do you?" Cliff tried to appeal to the director but was met with the same shrug.

"I’m doing it." He felt something alight in his chest. This is what he was missing, real acting, something physical. And he realized he thought that the stuff that Cliff did was more real than anything he had ever managed to put on celluloid.

"You got to block with your hand at the last moment, Cliff said, placing his hand against the side of his own face to demonstrate - "turn it inwards so the camera doesn't see the impact but it looks real enough - your head will bounce back with the force of it but it will be your hand taking the brunt of the impact - stings your hand, but doesn't do this,” he said pointing his face.

"Okay, I think I gotta it." Rick approached the poll and tried to angle himself how he thought it would happen. He practiced putting his hand against the side of his head like Cliff had shown him.

Cliff gave him a thumbs up. "Yeah just like that, still don't think you should do it."

"Your heads still bleeding, no way you can do it and if we're shooting this thing in order that means this scene has to be finished before we move onto the next one."

"Yes generally that's what that means."

"Smart ass. Glad to know you aren't too brain damaged." He _was_ glad. He wouldn't know what he would do with himself if Cliff got permanently hurt on the set of one of Rick's movies or TV shows. He'd hate himself just a whole lot more, and he wasn't sure how much more self-loathing he could handle before he really snapped.

"Look, I got this Cliff. Not saying your job is easy or nothin'. Definitely not easy," he said swallowing thickly when he took in the blood coating Cliff's hair, his hands, and the left side of his collar where it had run down and soaked through. Fuck that looked really bad. Head wounds just bleed a lot, he reminded himself.

He needed a cigarette, but first he needed to do this scene and then get Cliff the hell out of here and just resolve the whole fucking situation because holy shit was it getting out of hand.

"Look let's hurry up and do this," Rick said knocking his hand against the post. It was certainly sturdy for a set - almost like the real thing. "All right, Ian you disheveled bastard," Rick said and pointed to Ian who was leaning against the post opposite the one he had used to hurt Cliff.

"Get up," the director nodded. "You heard the man."

Who's directing this anyway, Rick wanted to ask but held back.

The set was warm, he could feel sweat starting to prickle on his neck.

"You sure about this?" Cliff asked standing up and wobbling a bit, but steady enough to move out of the scene on his own.

Rick gave him an affirmative nod, not wanting to talk, thinking if he spoke he would break his concentration. He visualized the stunt.

Cliff put his hand up against the side of his face. Rick nodded.

He steadied himself.

The director had Ian get back into his blocking. He stepped back gave a thumbs up and then gave the go ahead.

He heard Ian shift in the sand, his footwork seemed nervous and why shouldn't he sweat a little after what he'd just done to Cliff? - Might get some of the alcohol out of his system, after all.

Focus, Rick thought, then he felt the hand on the back of his head, hot sweaty and the thrust forward - the post seemed harder than it should have been - but that was good wasn't it? Didn't he want it to look real? Didn't he want for once to do something genuine? He put his hand up, caught the edge of it against the wood - it must have been too high though because his teeth cut into the flesh of his lower lip and blood welled in his mouth.

"Cut!" He head form behind him. "Perfect, looked great, looked real!" The director said.

Rick felt relief flood through him - he'd done it. He swallowed thickly against the blood in his mouth. He didn't want to spit it on the ground. He ran his tongue against the wound. Fuck, it was pretty deep and it stung like hell.

Somehow in the strange shooting schedule that ended up being the last scene of the day. Rick turned away from them - knowing that he really needed to get Cliff over to the first aid station, but first he needed to somehow stop his lip from bleeding. He turned, put up a finger and said through somewhat clenched teeth, "Be right back" and then started walking for the restroom with what he hoped wasn't too suspicious of a pace.

"Shit, he said once he entered the restroom - it was cooler and slightly darker than the set. Blood was still filling his mouth and he went to the sink spitting in the basin. He grabbed a paper towel and pressed it against his lip, wincing and closing his eyes.

Well that hadn't gone as well as he wanted - but still he'd done a scene that the director was willing to keep - but knowing this director, who knew what it really looked like.

"Hey, you okay?" the door opened and Rick turned quickly putting the paper towel down against the side of his leg. "Shit, I knew you hurt yourself."

"Didn't hurt myself, Cliff." It came out all muffled around his rapidly swelling lower lip.

"There's blood all over your chin."

Shit, there really was, he caught his reflection in the mirror. "Still look better than you," he said and Cliff snorted at that.

"You're the leading man - it's in the job description."

"How the h-hell am I going to shoot tomorrow?"

"I tried to warn you." He must have looked pretty dejected because Cliff shrugged and said, "Don't worry, little ice and that'll go down. Most of the damage is on the inside anyway. Some makeup and you'll be right as rain.

"Guess you know better than most," Rick said and shrugged, pushing the bloody towel back against his mouth.

"Come on, let's go make them do their job over at first aid."

"I should be helping you, Rick said. "And Cliff you know that I never think that I can actually do what you do."

Cliff just shrugged. "Looked like you gave it your best shot. I've seen newbies get beamed harder than that. You could be a stuntman if you wanted, Rick, you know that."

"Nah. I’m not cut out for it." He had liked it for a moment though. It was a different kind of acting, physicality he wasn't used to. It was a talent that seemed to fit Cliff like a glove, but had felt loose and wrong to Rick - even if it had been thrilling. He knew it wouldn't be something that he could ever do day in and out. "Maybe you should try out my kind of acting sometime Cliff."

"Nah, that's not my style," he said, his hand was still against his head.

"You have the face for it."

Cliff just laughed and shook his head, then winced a bit.

"He really got you good." Rick said.

"Looks like he got you good too."

"He's a bastard."

"Not gonna disagree with you there."

"Let's get your head stitched up, and I'll get some ice for this," he touched his lip, winced. "Then let's get the hell out of here. Bring Brandy over. We'll just put our feet up, watch TV, make some drinks, you know, take it easy." His voice came out slightly muffled around his lip.

Put everything back in its right place. Cliff on the couch and Rick next to him, Brandy at their feet, cold beer leaving rings on Rick's expensive coffee table - a few stitches, a bag of peas against his mouth and the knowledge that tomorrow he'll go back to acting and Cliff with another scar forming under his hairline will do another stunt and Rick won't think about being anything else, just try to be content.

**Author's Note:**

> These two are fun to write! Thanks for reading!


End file.
